I Prayed Alone in an Abandoned Mosque — But Someone Said Ameen Behind Me

I Prayed Alone in an Abandoned Mosque — But Someone Said Ameen Behind Me

It was a dusty, sunburnt village road — one I had never taken before.

I was traveling between towns when the call for Asr rang out faintly.

There were no visible masjids nearby, but a boy pointed toward a narrow dirt path.

> “There’s an old masjid that way. No one goes anymore.”



Curious, I followed it.

A broken gate.
Faded green paint.
And a small, cracked board that once read: “Masjid Al-Taqwa.”


---

The masjid was old… but still stood with dignity.

Windows covered in dust.
The wooden door ajar.
No lights. No fan. No sound.

Still, I stepped inside.

Laid my prayer mat.
Called the iqamah softly.
And began my prayer — just me and the sound of my own breath.


---

The air was still.
Heavy.
But peaceful.

I prayed with presence — as if the silence helped me listen better.

Then came the moment of salam.

> "As-salamu ‘alaykum wa rahmatullah."



As I turned my head to the right…

> “Ameen.”



Loud.

Clear.

Right behind me.

A voice.
Male. Mature. Powerful.

As if he had been praying behind me — the whole time.


---

My heart froze.

I spun around instantly.

Empty.

No one.

No shoes at the entrance.
No shadows.
No echo — the sound hadn’t bounced. It had come from a throat.

I walked to the door.

Stepped outside.

Still nothing.


---

I stood there for a full minute.

Trying to convince myself:

Maybe someone came in quietly?

Maybe I imagined it?

Maybe…


Then I saw something carved on the inner wall of the masjid.

Faint Arabic. Etched by hand.

“And a man whose heart is attached to the masjid…”



The Hadith of the seven under the shade of Allah.

And beneath it, another line — messier, fresher:

> "I never stopped coming."




---

I walked out, goosebumps racing down my back.

The boy who had pointed me here earlier was still outside.

I asked him:

> “Does anyone pray in that masjid?”



He shook his head.

> “No one since Imam Abdul Wakeel died. That was five years ago.”



> “Did he live nearby?”



> “He lived inside. Slept in the back room. Never missed a prayer.”



Then the boy added quietly:

> “Some people say… he still doesn’t.”




---

Later that night, I returned to my hotel.

Tried to forget it.

But in my sleep…

I heard it again.

“Ameen.”

This time… in my left ear.


---

Since that day, I stop at every old masjid I find.

Even if it’s falling apart.

Even if there’s no one inside.

Because maybe…

Some houses of Allah may be abandoned by people —

But not by those whose souls never left.